


Monstrous

by fresne



Series: Corner of 1st and Myth [8]
Category: Hotel California - The Eagles (Song), Supernatural, The Odyssey - Homer
Genre: F/M, Keats, Metallica - Freeform, Monstrous Feminine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-18
Updated: 2008-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In between, on a dark desert highway, Sam n' Dean stop at a hotel for the night. Structured like an episode, so what you'd expect ensues. Or perhaps not. There's music, there's poetry, there's clichés, there's a horrific concatenation of mythology. Personally, I blame Homer, Herodotus, or the Eagles. Or a random two of the three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monstrous

**Author's Note:**

> The following inspiration for this work and inspiration for my dialogue, where I am not directly quoting, because apt quotes are cool:  
> Pupul Voh  
> Keats, Lamia  
> Various Metallica songs

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_She was a Gordian shape of dazzling hue_

Once she was a Libyan Queen. A goddess. The demon's mistress. A silver worme.

Framed posters testified on the walls. The twelve stations of the B-movie.

There, she veronica lake glared with her unblinking golden eye from "The Oubliette of Blood." As Ayesha, "Temptress of the Nile ," she lounged on a couch, scorning mere grapes. In "The Lost Land," she looked over her shoulder, her whip hand languid and limp, waiting. Eyes fluttered like a bird over the pictures and years. Snaring on her ageless face as Melusine in "The Silver Worme." The final station.

The end as the beginning. A round room and all that. Like Mama et Bambino, Annunciation, Pieta, but with snake women and vampires. Stop motion, bikinis, and the occasional trick photography iguana.

Painted pictures. Frozen moments.

Now, she seemed a monument to preservation. Appeared lacquered and hennaed. Steamed and creamed. A lush orchid, slightly browned at the edges. Looked Pilates poured into a snake skin dress, forty years out of date, scales dulled and lost.

Worn from the inside out.

She danced in the Spanish style courtyard. Plaster fountain laughing over the sobbing stereo guitars.

The fanboys and the late night truckers, lost sailors of the road, they danced to remember. Swayed close to those red lacquered lips. Tried to get her take off her sunglasses eyes. Moved to get close enough to touch in sweet summer sweat. Hungry to be seen. Known. Grab a memory in flight.

She danced to forget. Got breakfast at Tiffany's twisted. Did those Mercedes bends. Looked into their eyes from behind her dark frames. Swayed with the lotus eaters and the tumbleweeds. Picked her friend for the night.

This one had sharp cheekbones and rough hands. Red necked. Hungry. He'd seen "The Silver Worme" eleven times when he was a boy. He kept saying it like it meant something and so it must.

She kissed him and drank his words down.

Then walked away from him without a word. Stood in the door. Glanced back once like she had in "The Longest Night."

Then she left the courtyard.

She was done with courting. With the mill and sweat of the yard.

He followed her.

They always did.

Couldn't believe this was happening to him. Couldn't stop whispering his disbelief, as he hesitantly pawed at her. The skin of his hands rough and grained with oil. Calluses catching on the slick scales of her dress. She opened her mouth and breathed him in. He smelled like the road. Gasoline and hours driving frozen carcasses down the interstate.

He'd been driving an eighteen hour shift and his shortcut by the town of Aiolia had been anything but. It was only chance that he'd stopped there for the night.

He kept talking.

They always did.

She liked talkers. The way their words splashed on her skin, as they wove themselves into her. Gave her their stories. Their words. Painted and ground themselves into the freckles of her flesh.

He smelled young. Beautiful like all the young did and she shook her head. Smiled the smile that a thousand pubescent boys had groaned to in their hot stuffy little rooms.

She took off her sunglasses. Let them drop to the floor. Let him see into her unblinking soul, fine line wrinkles and desire.

He told her that she was still beautiful. He kissed her, ate her up, hungry lips leaving no drop in the bewildering cup, and still the cup was full. He was trembling while he kissed her. Rough hungry hands on her body. Ready to hump her in the hallway, poor boy.

She pulled him into her room.

He couldn't believe it. Chattered that it was just like in "The Silver Worme." Even the ceiling. Even the bed.

The things that had happened in that flawless bed.

Standing in the room, they reflected back an infinity in the mirrors on the ceiling, and walls, and silver tiled floor. Threw dull shadows on the golden sheets, turned down.

But the tiny drops of frost on the champagne bucket caught their images and held them. Dripped slowly down into the bucket with its pink champagne and settling ice.

She watched him in the mirrors while he struggled with the oversized buckle on his belt. He was so young. The uncertainty pouring off him in waves. The rising certainty that if he didn't hurry, she'd change her mind. She took him in hand and let him know that there was no chance of that.

Then she said the word she'd been saving for him. She didn't have many left. "Relax." She poured him a glass of champagne. The flute frosted as the champagne foamed.

He gulped his champagne down and blinked at her like a fuzzy woodland thing.

She sipped. Savored the flavor of it. The brief bubbles gone and floating into her blood.

Then she took his glass from his hand and threw their glasses into the fireplace.

It wasn't significant. She just liked to break things

Then she slid a long hard fingernail up his shirt. Twisted and sliced the fabric down. Pulling not a drop of blood.

His chest was brown. He radiated heat. Heart pounding under her hands. He babbled about working out and driving shirtless and other he just couldn't believe this was happening to him things. Then she peeled off the rest of his clothes. Until he was as naked as the day he was born. Brown on top and white on the bottom.

He kept talking while she touched him with her hands and mouth. Reveling in the warm and the cool of him.

Her skin absorbed his words. His disbelief. The chatter and the groans.

Finally, she shed her dress, old skin that it was, on the floor. All the better to hear him.

He screamed once. He couldn't believe this was happening to him.

Perhaps he should have seen "The Silver Worme" twelve times.

Then she unhooked her jaw and stretched her mouth over his. Drank his screams. Drank his sweet, soft words. Delicious as a champagne sparkled sea. Young and alive and human. She love knotted herself around him and dragged him to her flawless bed.

They writhed in the golden sheets. The long serpentine length of her body, full of silver moons vermilion-spotted and freckled like a pard, wrapped around him. Gently squeezing, she drank his groans. Rubbed herself all over his flesh, so she could feel the warmth radiating out of him. Feel the pounding beat of his heart. Breath him in.

He gave that tiny little gasp that she never tired of hearing and she felt him melt in her embrace. She died the little death. She always died in her movies. The evil had to be punished and the good had to ride into the sunset. She rode the sunset pulsing in her body and she felt good. Clean, human, and alive. The serpent just a spoiled husk on the floor.

She cradled her lover in her arms.

You would think by now there would be no surprises left. With all that chatter and rough hands, she'd expected a monkey. She held up the brown and white rabbit trembling in her hands. His heart pounded. His fur so wonderfully soft under her fingertips. He blinked and quivered at her touch.

She hugged him to her tenderly: she loved all her friends. He could go into the menagerie tomorrow. Tonight, she just wanted to hold him and thank him for his gifts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_Sometimes I sleep, sometimes its not for days  
And the people I meet always go their separate ways_

The yellow dividing line flickered and glowed in the Impala's headlights. A short circle of light rumbling down the dark desert highway.

It'd been hours since they passed a town, but Dean was counting time by that last cup of coffee fading from his veins. No mileage signs. No crossroads. Just the headlights and spilled milk stars, the straight line of the road, and the repeating loop of the Black Album. Wherever I may roam.

He slid his hands around the familiar grip of the steering wheel and stretched, keeping his foot on the accelerator steady. Eating the feet and yards and miles.

They had a thousand more miles of this before they got where they were going.

Dean felt the turning of the wheels and the rumble of the engine. He had her opened up and if his baby was a Delorean, they'd have left the time behind. But his baby was his baby, so they just ate the night and hummed along with the Yorktown , she with the deadly bite, quick is the blue tongue, forked as the lightening strike, eyes that never close. Always remember, don't tread on me.

Tread on the road.

Sammy was spread out in the passenger seat sleeping. He'd woken up every night this last week with whatever nightmare he wouldn't say. Not that Dean wouldn't get it out of him eventually, but no need for him to drive if he didn't have to.

Dean had the window open. The cool wind blew the dry smell of desert brush in his face. He fiddled with the music volume and tried to focus on the familiar words. Tried not to get too caught up in the flickering repetition of the road.

He was tired and caffeine cranked. He wanted to sleep for a week, run in circles, fight and screw; know the day by the bottle that he drank. Never, ever think.

Riding sixteen hours, nothing much to do.

But those were different albums.

Turn the page.

They passed a sign. Aiolia, population sixteen. Blink and it was past.

Dean blinked.

The desert road ground away under the yellow headlights.

His eyes were getting hot and heavy. Unfocused and dim. He was about ready to just pull over to the side of the road and stop for the night; when on the horizon, he saw a shimmering light.

The Impala surged forward. Ate the miles like candy. The lights grew brighter and expanded into a sprawling mission style hotel. Dean wondered if the rooms would be decorated in early Spanish dirt or painted armadillos.

He went past a small neon hotel sign. Dean smiled. "Cute." He pulled up the cracked asphalt parking lot and killed the engine.

The quiet it left behind felt huge. An empty the slight breeze blowing through the wind break trees couldn't fill. Silent Lucidity falling off of speed.

Dean said, "Hey Sam. Wake up."

Sam blinked. "Are we there yet?"

Dean snorted, "No, but we're here. Check it out. Hotel California."

Sam said, "Great." and yawned. They creaked out of the car, legs stiff and rusty. Went into reception.

Sadly, the woman at the front desk did not have a candle, but the door chime did sound like a mission bell, which was pretty cool.

Dean grinned at the tanned and creased woman behind the counter, currently dangling a cigarette from her left hand, while turning pages of a magazine with her right. Based on the cigarette box next to her and the pile of ashes in the cigarette tray, probably not the day's last cigarette. He wondered what she'd say. She turned a page.

He leaned forward across the counter and said, "Is checkout any time we like, or can we never leave?"

Anne, by her nametag, glanced up from her magazine. Her face, if anything, became more down folded. She said, "Never heard that before. Two Doubles or one Queen?"

Not a big Eagles fan then. "Doubles." said Dean. Sam was still cracking yawns.

"Forty-five even. You're in building C." She pushed the registration book towards him and went back to flipping through her magazine. Yeah, real friendly.

The reg book jumped months between guests. They were the only ones here tonight.

He said, "Visa okay?"

She pointed at a sign behind her. It was hand lettered. "No, we DONT take credit cards! CASH ONLY!"

He dug up some worn and folded bills, and paid for the room. At least it was cheap.

She took the cash in long ringed fingers and threw a key across the counter. It was on a wine cork key chain, stamped with the number 69. Since the register said were staying in room 43, Dean opened his mouth.

Anne didn't look up. She said, "They're all like that. Don't ask me. I just work here." Turned a page of her magazine.

Whatever.

He drove the Impala around back. Through rows of dark and private bungalows and between two low tiled buildings. Adobe with neon signs. C in glowing red.

He parked by a sort of fenced in zoo. There was someone out there. A woman holding a candle. Someone with a sense of place. She kind a looked like whatshername in those wannabe Hammer horror flicks. Hard to call her a scream queen. It'd been everyone else screaming.

The summer breeze blew a cool wind across the parking lot. Blew the smell of animals and candlelight.

May as well check it out. Stretch his legs. Give his eyes a chance to adjust to the idea of shut.

Dean handed Sam the key and said, "I'll be right in."

Sam yawned, looked at the woman in the zoo, looked at Dean, yawned, and said, "Dude, you stay up all night, you'll still have to drive tomorrow."

"Whatever grandma." Dean watched Sam go into their room and close the door. Heard the click of the lock.

Then Dean went through the little iron work archway and into the zoo. Rabbits and turkeys and goats, oh my.

She was petting a black pot bellied pig in a low pen.

He said, "Nice night for a trip to the petting zoo?"

She turned and looked up at him. Crap. She was whatserherface, and, at least by candlelight, giving Sophia Loren a serious run for her money in the ungodly hot grandma department.

Then she licked her lips and smiled.

Sleep was overrated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake came,  
as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake_

She knew what he was as soon as he walked into her menagerie.

The sound of his footsteps. The way the cool night breeze parted when he moved through it..

The wily and the brave had spent themselves in her embrace. She knew a hunter when she heard one.

This was a very bad idea.

She should go back to her rooms and wait for something safer to wander in. It wasn't like she needed a new friend. Her sweet little rabbit's story was still fresh in the freckles of her skin.

Then she turned.

Looked up at him, looking down at her. Beautiful and terrible. Fire and sunset in his eyes. Weary from the long journey, tail in its mouth. Thirsty. Glistening with the memory of oil and blood.

She licked her lips. She could smell the grit of the road simmered into his flesh over years. Gunpowder and steel, like a razor on her tongue. It'd been so long since she'd had a predator in her bed.

She was so tired. But electricity sparked from her teeth to her toes.

The breeze held its breath.

Old friend.

She smiled up at him. Stood slowly. Felt the night air caressing each dazzling scale on her dress.

Old lover.

She walked towards him, swaying her hips to the steady beat of his heart. Stood close enough to shelter the candle between their bodies from the errant night breeze.

Old rival.

All around them, her friends watched. Silently. They knew better than to interfere in her pleasures..

He said something, a rapid splash of words teasing her skin, and she was ready to shed then and there.

Gods, he was a talker. Words and lips and hunter's eyes. She imagined herself twined around some jungle cat, their bodies slick with sweat and blood, or a pinnioned eagle struggling to carry her into the sky.

This was a really bad idea.

She wasn't young anymore. She'd lived so long by being careful. Subtle. The last one had almost had her.

He said something else, words rippling through her flesh, and every fiber of her longed for this. For her to have him.

There was trouble up ahead; how she wanted to face the music and dance.

She looked up at him with unblinking eyes and blew out the candle. A soft puff of air. Stood a moment beneath the winking stars with the smoke spiraling between them.

In the almost dark, she ran her nails along the back of his hand and up his leather clad arm. Walked around him and away.

Didn't look back, as she headed for her rooms.

She knew that he'd follow.

He was a hunter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_Off through the new day's mist I have come.  
I hunt. Therefore I am._

A woman of few words.

No words really.

Clearly, she didn't need them. That thing with the hand was just hot.

He filed it away for future use. He wondered what other moves she had. Which was good and bad. They had a long way to go tomorrow.

He watched the sway of her hips, as she walked away; woman had no spine. Smelled the last remains of her candle's smoke. Felt the slight scoring on the back of his hand where she'd scratching him. Listened to the animal's breathing. The sighing wind. Whispered, "This could be heaven or this could be hell."

This was what coffee was made for.

He followed her into Building B.

Heavy fire door. Thick adobe style walls. They looked pretty soundproof. He wondered if she was always this quiet.

She hadn't said much in her movies either. Mostly stood there and looked hot.

But what was really bugging him was that he couldn't remember her name. Given all the tv he and Sam'd watched, he'd probably seen every B-movie ever. They were always fun to pick apart. MST3King 'Santa Claus Conquering the Martians' or 'Night of the Lepidus' was a good way to come off a job. Course this, this was a good way to come down off a job. Climb up to one.

He knew he knew her name. It was something fake and cool. Started with a C and... "Dude. Circe Keats."

She turned to look at him, her room key held loosely in her hand. Eyebrow arched. Her other eye was hidden under long red hair.

He said, "So, I'm guessing the name of the hotel isn't a coincidence."

She looked at him and she said, which thank God, he'd been starting to think she'd never say anything, "No."

Informative.

He looked around the hallway. The yellow walls and candelabra lamps didn't give him a lot of straight lines. Going on about her movies seemed kinda, hey I used to jerk off watching you, lets do it. Or hey baby, let's do the horizontal mambo to remind ourselves that we're still alive.

Maybe then he should ask her sign.

She looked up at him. She shook her head slightly, red hair moved in waves across her face. Then she leaned forward and up and over. Did this thing with her tongue in his ear that was blood straight to his dick and whispered, "Talk to me." Brushed her hand down his chest and turned back to the lock.

She opened the door to her room, which, now the Hotel California thing was getting a bit much. Then again, it wasn't the worst room he'd ever seen by a long shot. Plus the mirrors could get interesting.

He said, "So, are we all just prisoners of our own device?" Which made him think of handcuffs, sadly still locked in the trunk. He glanced around the room. Too bad she hadn't gone with the set from the movie with the Martian vampire clones. A boy could dream. This one had.

"Oh, champagne." He went over the champagne bucket and poured some pink fizzy. He handed her one, while picking his lines. Talk to me, hmm. He took one sip and knew that it was a really bad idea.

It tasted awful.

Sickly sweet and bitter at the same time. He swallowed, but put the glass down. Started to say whatever random came into his head. Lyrics and limericks. Words.

Woman liked her words.

She had some amazing moves. Touched with her whole body. Really leaned in. The skin of her cheek was cool, smooth. She was murmuring something now. She sounded far away, like air bubbling through honey, which was damn poetic of him, so he said that too.

All around them, the mirrors reflected hundreds of them back. It was interesting and distracting. He concentrated on the woman at hands.

She ran her hands up his chest and with a quick twist and jerk, she sliced open his shirt with a fingernail.

"Hey!"

He didn't have that many shirts. Course, that had been the best bit in the one with the cyborg werewolves from the earth's core. Guess it wasn't a special effect.

The real question was where was the back of her dress. Or side. Or, okay, that tight, leather, there was no way that worked. This close, in the bright lights, he could almost see a pattern in the scales, and, oh crap, she wasn't blinking.

He went for the knife in his back pocket, but she was too fast. Wrenched his wrist around and sent him flying into the bed. Good thing he had a spare knife in his left boot.

Good thing he was still wearing his pants. Now that really would have been awkward.

She sort of shimmied and her dress peeled off to reveal, now seriously, if she could do that, why had they used that crappy tube sock puppet in the one with the big white snake from Atlantis.

She slithered forward, murmuring more honeyed words.

He said, "Not in the mood bitch. I draw the line at," he gestured with his knife. "Whatever you are." He wondered if he could take care of this without letting Sam know.

He was never going to let Dean live this down.

She swayed right and left and struck. He stabbed her with his steely knife, but wouldn't you know it, he just couldn't kill the beast.

It didn't even break her skin.

He scrambled ass backward across the bed. It was like trying to swim in goo. She swarmed forward and around him.

Then she unhooked her jaw and this would be a really embarrassing way to go. So, he bit her. Tasted her blood in his mouth. Thought, "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Let go of the knife and fought the good fight and all that shit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_Left to herself, the serpent now began to change;  
her elfin blood in madness ran_

She felt the sting of where he'd bitten her. A single delightful layer. Like a prelude to a kiss.

She tightened her coils. Relished his love taps and squeezed down and up. Breathed in his words, the anger in his heart. Felt him melt. He tasted so good, and she felt so wonderful and alive and human.

She was limp with the pleasure of legs and arms and the pattern of his story in her flesh. It would take her months and days and years to explore.

She stretched out in her new skin and looked at her love. Knew that this was why this was a really, really bad idea.

She wasn't ready for this kind of intimacy.

But her Fenrir, he was hasty and clever. He saw under all of the years and scars to what she really wanted.

Lips curled back from rows of canines, and she had just enough time to think, my what big teeth you have, when he lunged at her throat. He bit through layers of skin and there was blood and there was sweat and it was as wonderful as she had imagined.

She slapped him back handed and he flew through the air. Slammed against a mirrored wall, cracking the glass in spiraling rings. He lay on the floor in a lump of dark fur. She walked over to him. Reveled in her own strength. The power of her muscles and, less monloguing, more in the moment, as he scrambled to his feet. Snapped at her legs.

He missed her Achilles tendon by inches.. Sunk powerful tearing teeth into her left calf, searing pain as skin tore, ripping through layers, blood spaying abstractly on the tile. Gods. Then he lifted up, toppling her to the floor in a heavy smack. Her heart actually skipped a beat. She wrapped her fingers around his muzzle, as he went for her gut, and held on.

It was only their first date. They could peal layers and devour each other later.

Wrapped herself around the growling thirst she'd boiled away. Paws struggling for purchase on the tiled floor. Jaws trying to get free.

She breathed in his musky scent, felt the rips in her own body, even as they began to close, and wanted this jagged embrace to go on forever. Wanted to lie perfectly still with love in her arms. Wanted....the same thing she always wanted.

She slammed his head into the tile with an audible crack. He yelped and she murmured sleep into him. He closed his eyes and did. The simplest spells were the best.

She was trembling. Her heart was pounding. She thought, oh, I forgot. And, I'm too old for this. And, when can I do this again. And laughed. There were still surprises left in the world. She never would have expected a lone timbered wolf.

She ran her hands over his coarse fur. Murmured that he was her Fenrir. Her beloved and a delight. Hugged his limp body for the wonderful gifts he'd given her, her heart pounding with love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_This is not my idea of a good time_

Sam woke up several times in the night, heart pounding, as Jess slid across the ceiling. Silently screamed something, but he could never make out the words. Dripped her blood and burned.

He'd turn to look at the other double bed by the door. Dean always took the bed by the door.

It was empty. What good was that?

He'd flop over and try to get back to sleep. Only to wake to fire and blood and silent screams. Look at the empty bed. Look at the ticking clock. Try again.

The night crawled. Each minute made up of infinite restless hours.

Finally, the morning got around to showing up.

He felt wrung out. Still no Dean, which was odd, but then Sam remembered that Dean had given him the only key. Probably ended his night asleep in the car.

Just as well, he'd have asked Sam about the nightmares. No matter what Sam said, he just wouldn't shut up about it.

Sam halfway expected Dean to stumble in somewhere in the middle of Sam's shower. Hot water drumming into his head and one ear tuned to the door. But the shampoo went on and off without a knock.

Sam kept an eye on the door through pants and shirt and shoes and looked out the window. Where was the car?

Sam ran down the stairs. He could swear they'd parked next to that little petting zoo.

There was no car. No Dean.

For half a second he thought, but no, hell had more flakes in it than Dean would try to yank his chain by moving the car. Nair in his shampoo, yes. Making him think he'd been left, no.

And even if Dean had a really good night, he was always around in the morning, chuckling over packaged muffins and good times.

Sam wasn't going to panic. Maybe Dean had to move the car. For some reason that Sam couldn't think of.

Sam flipped open his cell phone, but there were no bars. He ran back into the room. No phone.

Most of the guns and holy water were in the car. He had a salt shaker, a handgun, a ring of lock picks, his lighter, some dirty clothes, and Dad's journal in his duffle.

There was no Gideon in the old dresser drawers by the beds, which either meant this hotel was a den of evil or it was in the middle of nowhere. Take your pick.

Flipped through Dad's journal, but that wasn't getting Dean found.

He practically had it memorized anyway.

He stashed everything but the dirty clothes in his pants and jacket pockets.

Ran back outside. Sam stood in the parking area between the long low buildings.

Empty spaces. No cars. No Dean. No Impala. There was an actual Impala in the little zoo, but he didn't think their car could turn into something that fragile. He ran through the pens, expecting to see his brother laying bleeding on the ground. Just animals..

A brown black wolf in an old rusty cage began to howl.

Sam said, "I know how you feel," and went back through the buildings towards the front of the complex, a dull sick feeling in his stomach.

He was wide awake now.

The place was huge.

Old. Worn at the edges.

Huge.

He ran by a long enclosed swimming pool. Windows milky and peeling. Private Bungalows with little fenced in yards full of cactus and century plants. An old tennis court, full of cracks and brown tumble weeds.

He glanced over every fence. Looked in each parking space. No car. No Dean.

He threw back the glass door of the Reception Office with a frame shaking slam and ran in. There was a fresh faced girl in her late teens at the front desk. She smiled a giant smile.

He was still drawing in a breath when she said, "This is great. I never get to talk to the guests. We get some trucker traffic, but they're generally gone by the time I start my shift." She started to twirl a pencil around her fingers. "I spend my whole day reading and writing and I never see anyone. Sometimes I wonder how this place can stay in business, cuz there's never anyone here, but I guess Circe's got lots of money from the movies she made, she did all her own production and stuff, and it's cool that I can get a job here, cuz there's not a lot to do in Aiolia and I know mom and dad want me to stick around, but I need my own job, and, oh, I'm sorry. I run on sometimes. Motor mouth is what Dad and Mom and my brothers n' sisters call me. They say, Motor mouth, you don't let anyone get a word in edgewise. Edgewise, I like that word. And I think that,"

Sam blurted out, "Excuse me!"

The girl bobbed her head and said, "Is there something I can help you with? Like I said, I mostly don't see anyone all day long when I'm here on the weekends and in the summers and after being in a house with fourteen people, it gets a little quiet, and you know, this is a really neat place. We have an indoor swimming pool, with a hot tub and, okay, the sauna's broken, but the pool is great, and there's a tennis court, and something for bachi ball, whatever that is, and,"

Sam was drowning. He said, "HaveyouseenmybrotherDean?"

The girl blinked, "No, you're the first person I've seen today and, and, I'm sure I would have noticed someone if he looked like you, because, well, yeah, I kind of babble when I'm nervous and I don't get to see a lot of people, um, guys, who aren't related to me, and I gotta say you're very tall and, um, very cute. You know you could be in movies. I bet if you talked to Circe, she could give you lots of advice, although, she doesn't say much; I think she's kinda self conscious about her accent. Her English isn't all that good, cuz she's originally like from someplace in Europe or Greece or something like that. Although, I can't imagine why anyone would want to come from somewhere cool like Europe and then after being in all sorts of movies, which Mom and Dad won't let me watch, but Brad, that's one of my brothers, said were pretty lame. Um, yeah. Well, why she'd want to move out here. I mean it's not like she's an artist like mom and dad, they do these cool wind sculpture things using sandstone and,"

Sam said, "Isthereaphone?"

The girl giggled and said, "Oh, no. This was originally a spa for like movie stars, so they could get away from everything, so they never put in phones and,"

Sam said, "CanItalktoyourmanager? Please!"

The girl's smile fell. "Oh. Okay." She sighed. "I'll go see if Circe's awake." She slipped out the door behind the front desk.

Sam stood in the silent room listening to the clock loudly ticking on the wall. Looked out the front window at the vast nothing of flat desert. Waves of heat already beginning to rise from the narrow strip of highway. Paced the worn carpet. Made the mission bells ring with his steps in counterpoint to the tick, tick, ticking of the clock.

In forever, or fifteen minutes, the woman from the zoo last night walked slowly into the room while leaning on a silver cane.

He recognized her from wasted hours of watching bad movies in some flea bag hotel waiting for Dad to get back from a job. Waiting for the sun to set or rise, or just something to take their minds off the injuries of the night.

Hours of cracking bad jokes, and Sam knew two things.

One, Circe had to be sixty plus, and he was so going to give Dean crap about that when he found him. Grandma.

Two, actually, he only knew one thing. She looked faded and fragile. He'd been thinking Sunset Boulevard, but you'd think she'd be livelier if she was draining men of their youth.

She breathed in like she was going to say something. Then she laughed..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart  
Its most ambiguous atoms with sure art_

She sent little Betty home leaking embarrassment over someone pretty looking for his brother. All the better to be alone.

She opened the door. Looked at him staring at the open road and she understood.

Pack animals on the hunt. Bad, bad idea. They'd swarm over her if she wasn't careful.

Her skin tingled.

She felt the memory of pain as she limped slowly forward. The key to a good limp is to believe it.

She looked up into his seeking eyes, this tall drink of water and cherry pie. Imagined a bitter snarling pair of them and laughed.

He was watching her. Measuring her.

She was too old for this.

It didn't matter.

She'd already decided. Even before she walked in the door.

She said her first words to him, "Looking for brother, yes?"

He bobbed his head and said stumbling words, about seeing her last night and his brother and their car. All broken loops. Not a talker, but stumbling sweet in the eye. Ah, well, they couldn't all tell stories. He was a killer. It was enough.

She walked up close to him, just a old woman with a cane. Subtle. Stumble. Smile.

She looked up into his eyes and saw thirst. Not for her, but for something, and something was what she had to give. She said, "I saw your brother. Very flattering." She laughed again. Let a little extra age show in her chin and cheeks, in the fans around her eyes. She tilted her head a bit and said, "You worried some Thing got him, yes?"

Uncertainly crept into him. He suspected, but he was not sure. Still enough of a pup in him to want to be.

She said, "I live here long time. Not first time I hear this." Then she lets herself sag onto her cane, an aging woman with a lame leg. She said, "Sorry. Not good to stand too long. I have accident."

He told her he was sorry, so sorry. Polite, thirsty boy. It'd been so long since she'd played this way.

She'd spent so long dancing to forget, she forgot.

He reached out to hold her elbow and she let her weight rest on him. All the better to feel his warmth.

This was stupid and foolish and she licked her lips to taste his smell in the air. Rubber and road, fire and blood baked into his bones. Recognized the marks spattered into his flesh. She wanted to squeeze him until he cracked to give her a taste. She wanted to tame them to her heel and go hunting, like she never did when she was young. When she kept the winds in a bag and coiled on her island in the wine dark seas.

They were so young, her heroes. Flickering in front of her eyes.

She said, "No worries. Many years past. Reason I came here." She shrugged. "I never left. You see my movies, yes?" She smiled up at him. The best lies were the ones that were somewhat true. She let the truth and the lie of it linger in her eyes. Then glanced away. "We sit in patio, yes. Maybe I help. You be handsome young man, flatter me, and I explain things, yes?

He nodded. Helped her to the door. Opened it for her. So, sweet and polite and called her Ma'am. Enough to bring a tear to the eye.

He was still not quite certain of her. But she could feel his thirst through her dress. It danced on her skin. There were so many things that she could tell him. Not that they'd make much sense.

They sat in the shady courtyard. The fountain sending fine spray into the morning. She poured two glasses of sun tea from the jug by the table. She offered him a glass and he was so polite, he took it. Even not quite trusting and worried and alone in the world.

She watched him and waited for him to drink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
~

He wakes up thirsty.

Hot.

Sniffs the thing of water by where the water drips. The water is only water. He drinks. Dunks his head under and shakes.

His head hurts.

Growls, but bitch snake is not there. Bitch.

He examines where he is. Narrow bars of bitter metal. There are layers of cat smell in the dirt. Something big and old. It is not here now.

He pisses on the cat smell to show what he thinks.

He examines the narrow bars. They are old, but strong. Sniffs the bitter metal. Pushes. The bitter metal does not move.

He paces in the small space.

His brother comes outside. He sees him through the narrow bars and the curling fences. Whines, but his brother does not hear.

His brother goes away. Comes back.

He howls as his brother runs by, but his brother does not understand.

He knows that he is not right self, but cannot quite think how. There is only now. The world looks strange. Smells seem strange. But he cannot. He does not.

The pack is in danger.

There is not much pack left.

He pushes against the bitter metal, but the narrow bars do not move.

He paces. He whines to himself. His voice sounds strange. He cannot. He does not. He paces.

He knows that what must happen is that he and his brother will rip out bitch snake's throat, spill her entrails on the dry earth. Devour her bitter and sweet. As they do with all that hunt in their territory. But how?

He pants. He paces. He thinks. He scratches the hard earth with his strong paws. He smells the layers of old scents. He thinks.

He looks at the edges of the place he is in. The dirt is not hard at the back of the place he is in. It is the spot where the old cat smell liked to piss.

He pisses on the spot to show what he thinks of that. He smells the crumbly earth. He goes over to the thing full of water and holds one of its edges in his strong mouth. Drags the thing to the place. The bitter metal tastes bitter. He tips the thing over and the warm water spills into the crumbly earth. It is now dark earth. Soft earth.

He drags the thing back under where the water drips. He digs with his strong paws.

The animals in the other pens are watching him.

They are not his meat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_If I am silent, then I am not real.  
But if I speak up, then no one will hear_

 

Sam held the cool glass in his hands and waited for Circe to drink some tea.

She laughed this low soft laugh and sipped some tea and said, "Is good yes?"

For a moment, she made him think of Missouri , except for the part where she was wearing a skin tight leathery sort of dress and was small and fragile. And she might be evil..

There was a crash of breaking glass from the Reception area.

A wolf ran through the open archway. Wrong time of day for a werewolf. Could just be a crazy woman keeping a wild animal in her petting zoo.

Sam stood up and pulled out his gun. He said, "Circe, stay back."

The wolf made a low sharp almost bark and sort of tilted its head. The light glinted off an amulet dangling from its neck. Sam lowered his gun. "Dean?"

The wolf sprang at something to Sam's left and twisted in mid-air to avoid being smashed by, crap, Circe, definitely evil, and apparently a giant serpent thing with arms and a woman's head.

Her empty dress/skin lay on the floor next to her.

There seemed to be a lot more of her coiled on the floor than made sense.

There always was.

Sam fired five quick shots into Circe. The wolf, Dean, yelped as bullets ricocheted around the room, bouncing off of Circe and into the floor and walls. A bullet hit a few inches from Sam's head. Physics in motion.

No more shooting then.

Sam stuck the gun in his pants and threw a chair at her. The metal chair did about as much good as the gun. However, while she was distracted, Dean darted in and bit her. She whipped her tail around at him. Narrowly missing him. Cracking the floor.

Now she was really pissed.

She was bleeding.

Man, it was one of those no man made weapons deals. Sam looked wildly around the room. Tiny metal chairs, movie posters on the walls. Forged, shaped, and useless things.

She swayed to the right and to the left. Crooned a bubbling series of words. Like something almost remembered from a dream.

Sam felt tired of the meaningless words and the dreams and this. This just sucked. They hadn't even reached where they were going.

Sam picked up a chair and swung it at her. Felt like an an actor in a B-movie that didn't know his lines. She lunged at him and then swayed back to avoid Dean's dart and snap. The red wound was already healing.

Sam didn't even know what they needed to do. Maybe if Dean hadn't come in when he did, Sam could have...drunk the tea like an idiot.

Suddenly, he missed Dean's stupid half assed remarks. The wolf wasn't even growling. Just flowing along the ground looking for opportunities, while Sam swung his ridiculous little chair.

This was getting them nowhere. They needed information.

Sam looked at...his brother, the timber wolf. It/he/this was weird even for them gave Sam a look that was so Dean that it would have been funny, if there hadn't been for a bubbling hissing serpent woman. Swaying to some internal rhythm.

He was so going to give Dean crap about this one. If they lived.

He threw the chair at Circe and yelled, "Dean come on." and ran for the door.

They ran down a hallway. It was as good as anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair,  
Hover'd and buzz'd his wings, with fearful roar_

She slid along the floor of her home. Empty rooms. Dusty with memories. A heartbeat ago. A flicker.

She crawled through the dust and over the cracks.

She could almost taste her heroes. Like another memory.

If she went to her rooms, she could scry them out. If she went to her temple, beneath the earth, she could open her bag of winds and let them roam. If she went to her library, she could vomit some curse or other from her dead books. She wondered if there was anyone left who could read them but her.

She slipped through the chambers of her home, like some coral reef left stranded when the seas went dry. But she did not see the heroes with her dry yellow eyes. Her running against the wind Fenrir. Her sweet untasted cherry pie.

Where there were two, there could be others. There were always others. Like wasps on honey.

If she left now, they would never find her. The desert was wide and vast and she could sleep away an age. If she could close her eyes.

But they would find her. That's what they were.

In her movies, in the end, the villain always died. In her movies.

She did what she always did when she was depressed. Wound herself through her menagerie to be surrounded by her friends. Wrapped herself around them. Crooned to her birds in their cages. Ran fingers in soft fur. Inhaled their scent.

She didn't cry.

She took her eyes out, her unblinking eyes. She put them on a shelf so she wouldn't have to see what she was doing. All the things she had done.

She did what she always did when she was depressed. She ate. Consumed what she loved. The sickly sweet and the bitter copper of it. And like always, she couldn't feel them when they were gone.

Then she put eyes back in and went back to looking. Her belly dragging in the dust. Calling to them in the only words she'd left herself.

Her song was not yet over. The melody lingered on. Turn the page.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
~

Dean runs. Sometimes his paws are silent. When the earth is soft and strange. Sometimes his paws click. When the earth is stone or wood..

His brother runs next to him.

He is warm inside and his steps are light.

The bitch snake is behind them. Her voice echoes. It is hard to tell where she is.

It is good to run. His brother needs teeth.

They need to know what they hunt. They have not yet been taught.

They will learn.

That is how a hunt goes forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_The days grow longer_  
As we grow stronger  
So shed your skin

The place was a maze of 70s conference rooms, empty gyms, dusty spas, and museum displays. Each empty room marked with metal signs like Beowulf Ballroom and Rainbow Serpent Room.

Dean seemed to be going somewhere, so Sam followed. Sam said, "Dean are you in there?" Dean glanced up, but didn't bark or blink or otherwise lassie a response. Sam said, "Timmy's down a well right." Dean stood in front of a glass door onto a patio.

Sam opened it. Dean ran through to the door on the far side.

Sam said, "Metallica sucks. John Denver was a god." Dean waited in front of the door. Looked up at him. Right. Great. His brother. The wolf.

Sam opened the door.

Dean ran down the hall to a door like all the other doors. He stopped. Sniffed the door. Pawed at it. Looked up at Sam as if to say, hey dipshit, I don't have opposable thumbs. Although, that may have just been Sam filling in the blanks. The adrenaline was fading into a steady beat of what the hell, what the hell, what the hell, in his head.

Sam tried the door.

It was locked.

A size three lock pick later, full of flickering memories of Dean coaching him on the subtle search and twist of the pick, the click and give of the lock tumbling open for you, and he was in.

Wasn't the worst room he'd ever seen.

Except for the cobweb cracks in one of the mirrors on the wall. Except for the scattered pile of Dean's clothes. The dried flakes of blood on the floor. The red splattered sheets.

Sharp panic had faded away. He rubbed his face and tried to focus on clues to what they were fighting. How to get Dean back. Turn back time in the water clock currently loading up and dumping in a little mirrored alcove He looked down at Dean. What happened?"

Dean came over and licked his hand, which was somehow disturbing and comforting at the same time. Rough and rasping. Warm.

Although, he drew the line at Dean sniffing his crotch.

He said, "No." and, "Come on there's nothing here." But he grabbed Dean's boots. Dean'd need them. Later.

They wandered through more rooms.

In the Marsaria room, racks of weapons glittered from cases and prongs on the wall. He touched a spear on a wall. It was made of balsa wood and covered in gold paint, glitter, and plastic gems. Paper Mache boulders. Plastic swords.

Even if they were real, they'd be useless.

In the back of the room, there was a small door. Another lock. Another pick, this time the number four. He could almost hear Dean's voice, "You gotta ease it in and move it around until you feel it catch." In his mind eye, he could see Dean grinning at him, "Pretend the lock's that blonde you sit next to in homeroom."

He scratched Dean behind the ears. "Don't worry. I'll get you back to normal." He opened the door onto a dark stairway that went down.

There was no light switch. Just an oil lamp.

He lit it. Went down into the earth.

It was a melting pot of temples. Norse wolves gnawed on the world serpent around the round room's floor. Egyptian columns were wrapped with Apophis snakes. Assyrian carvings of a god of wind and lightening killing a dragon to make the world. Hundreds of small amphora jars, decorated with paintings of sirens, lined the walls.

He lifted a lid.

The amphora was full of ashes and salt. He remembered his Art History class on funerary art. How the other students had joked and laughed. Uncomfortable and relishing their own daring. Sure that death would never touch them.

Sitting in that class, surrounded, not saying anything, not wanting to give himself away, pretending to laugh and feeling old.

Circe wasn't taking any chances with something it seemed. He put the lid down.

Looking around, uncomfortable with the quiet.

He saw a small marble pillar that might make a good weapon, picked it up. Then he realized it was a hermai and let go. It shattered on the floor. Bad enough picking up a good luck phallus. He hoped there was no bad luck breaking one. He imagined Dean laughing at him, a thousand times echo of, "No wonder you never get laid."

Then he laughed. Dean was marking the room.

He picked a chunk of marble. The cavalry was a guy with a rock after all.

They went back up the stairs. Dean walking ahead. Sam following behind with the lamp.

The hallway was empty.

The next room, Enodios lounge, looked promising.

The door swung open at a touch.

It was an entertainment room. Rows of cracked and yellowed books. An old tv squatted over rows of faded video cassettes.

Sam left Dean sniffing the old couch in the middle of the room. Walked past the Valleys of the Dolls and the Sweet Valley Highs to a glass display case holding three gold colored books.

Sam opened the case and flipped through the metal pages. They were stamped with some sort of pictograms. Abstract shapes. They didn't mean anything to Sam.

Then in a sad corner, he saw the poetry.

He'd rather look at pictograms.

He didn't really care for the Odyssey's Circe suggestion, probably get him eaten. Keats's Lamia was a bit obtuse; where was the harsh light of philosophy when you needed it. But, La Motte's Melusine gave him an idea.

He popped in "The Silver Worme" into the player and turned on the tv. Dean glanced over at him and then went to sit in front of the door. Watching it. Ears forward, listening for noises from the hall.

Sam fast forwarded, while he flipped through Dad's journal to the page he was looking for.

It still said what he remembered.

Dropped into normal play for the wise old sage to young hero exposition. Listened.

It still said what it had the last time he saw it.

Under the echo of those late night viewings. Beneath the weird falsetto that Dean liked to do for the witch in the wood, his own bad John Wayne for the hero, and the occasional rumble of Dad's voice with unexpected suggestions, beneath years and weight, Sam realized something he should have noticed years ago.

Circe died in pretty much the same way in all her movies. There were variations. Other villains. Other props, but as he fast forwarded to the final melting line. He said it with her, "Here lies one who's name is only writ in water." He rewound the tape and put it back on the shelf.

At least Dean couldn't tell him this was a really stupid plan. He imagined all the choice words Dean would say. Saw the expressions. The sudden grin of what the hell.

So, Sam scratched him briefly under the jaw, until Dean's eyes closed. Said, "So, you think this will work?" Dean sort of hummed and indicated a willingness to play keep away with Sam's hand. "Yeah, I thought so."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_You have deserted me; -- where am I now?  
Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow:_

The sun was dying into the west when she found them.

They were in the end, which was also the middle and the beginning.

The parking lot.

She slid across the asphalt, dragging her gravid belly across the burning black. Threading past the silent empty cars painted with weird syrops to hide them from other's prying eyes.

Her Fenrir ran between a Bug and a Gremlin. She called out to him. Licked her lips and tasted the sun climbing down the sky.

Time was dripping past.

Something shattered against her skin and she turned. The other one, his heart drumming like the beat, beat of a raindrop was standing by the pool house swinging something in a overhead loop. He let go and another glass bottle shattered against her.

She curled around to lick the liquid oozing down her skin. Lamp oil made of ambergris and olives. Her own mixture of fat and heat.

He started swinging the next one. It was on fire. She looked in his eyes and she saw his purpose carved into his bones. Into his burning heart.

She raced towards him, eager for her love's embrace, for the crack of his bones and the snicker snack or vorple teeth, but her other lover, jealous of her attentions, snapped and growled. Long enough. Too long.

Her love set her on fire, the sun dying above in his merciless unblinking sky.

Her skin screamed and she hissed. Smashed through plate glass and into the pool.

Cool sweet water burned her skin. Peeled at her bones. The pool was full of ashes and salt. A drop of blood and blessed. She writhed in the bubbling water, like a champagne sparkling sea in the afternoon light.

It was pealing at her layers. Sloughing away all her skins, until she was as white and soft as a baby that's just been birthed. Not a freckle to be seen.

She swam for the shallow waters and tried to rise, but her Fenrir was waiting. Jumped in and sank his sweet teeth into her burning flesh. She wrapped herself around him and dragged them both down.

He didn't stop as she squeezed. Ripped through her belly, blood spilling in the water. She tightened her coils, but her love still found her frozen heart.

She rode the sunset in his eyes, as her sight grew dim and memory faded into black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_So, tear me open, but beware  
There's things inside without a car_

Dean coughed. Lay on his side and hacked up about half the pool. Blinked up at his brother's worried eyes taking up half his face. He coughed and spat, and damn that was disgusting. He whispered, "Dude," coughed again, "She dead?"

Sam nodded, dripping water and ash.

Dean sat up and winced at the soreness in his chest. He said, "You better not have given me mouth to mouth."

Sam shook his head, "Dude you weren't breathing. Your heart stopped."

Dean inhaled to remember breathing. Coughed. "Whatever grandma."

Sam pushed wet ashy hair out of his eyes. "Grandma humper."

They stopped. Looked at each other. Dean waved a finger in the air, dude fingers, and said, "Rewind." Paused a moment, "Bitch."

Sam grinned, "Jerk," and helped Dean to his feet.

Dean was wet, naked, felt like he'd cracked a rib, and, near as he could tell, he'd just eaten something's heart, but any job you limp away from was a good one.

Limped to the front of the pool house. Looked at the parking lot.

There were cars and trucks everywhere. Age flattened tires. Peeling paint.

The Impala sat smugly right where he'd parked it.

He eyed the black asphalt. Sam handed him his boots. The tongue was missing on the right boot. Dean said, "Bitch carved up my boots."

Sam said, "Actually, that was me. I needed it for the sling."

Dean looked at the sling curled in a discarded line on the ground. It was made of blue sequined rubber. A chunk of boot leather was tied to sling with a shoe lace.

He thought he recognized the sling from the one with the lost island of bikini chicks and iguanas dinosaurs. Shrugged. Put on the boots. Started walking over the pavement towards their room. He said, "I'm gunna grab a shower before we head out."

Sam walked next to him. Said, "I wasn't going to say anything. Fido."

"You're never going to let me live this down are you?" Dean glanced over the fence into the zoo. The pens were all empty. But he knew that.

"Nope." Sam flipped the room key around his index finger.

"Dude," Dean took the key and opened the door, "I am so getting you drunk in a karaoke bar."

Sam shook his head. His hair was already almost dry. Looked like a tall dandelion. He said, "Can't even come close."

Dean shucked his boots and turned on the shower. "When your bad ass singing kills a snake chick we'll talk." Knew it was a weak response, but what the hell. He was running around on four legs about whenever minutes ago.

Stood under the hot water and let the water beat down. Turned his face into it and let it wash away the ash and blood, salt and sweat. Pound the weary from his bones.

Maybe he should have Sammy drive. They had a thousand miles of crappy roads before they got where they were going.

Nah.

 

~~~~  
_Fade to black_  
~~~

or why not? Footnotes

~The title is a reference to the trope in myth/literature of the Monstrous Feminine. Which is the cliché I started out to write.  
~Foucault, in I think "On Crime and Punishment," talked about a Panopticon, a prison where the prisons cannot see the guards, but the guards may watch the prisoners as a way of shaping behavior. Umberto Eco wrote a book called "Foucault's Pendulum."  
~~~~~~~~~  
~All of the quotes at the beginning of the sections the Lamia POV are from the Keats's poem, "the Lamia."  
~Libian Queen - Lamia, according to some Greek mythology, was a Lybian Queen who was seduced by Zeus, well who wasn't. Guy was a slut.  
~Or in some myths she was a demi-goddess.  
~Or in "the Lamia" she's described as looking like a devil's mistress.  
~The White Worme is a story by Bram Stoker (also a cheesy movie).  
~12 stations - Catholic iconography of Christ's life.  
~Veronica Lake - Actress with a particular look. A Veronica Lake look.  
~An oubliette is a tiny type of prison cell where you stick someone and forget about them.  
~Melusine was a fairytale/mythological figure supposedly somewhere back in the family tree of the Counts Anjou/the Plantagenets. She was either a cursed fairy or a demon or something. She married the count, but wouldn't go to church and would spend every Sunday bathing (horrors!). Depending on the version the Count saw her at her snakey bath or dragged her to church. She got all seperenty and flew away.  
~Mama, Annunciation, Pieta are commonly done religious iconography of the life of Christ.  
~They danced to remember - "Hotel California"  
~She danced to forget... Mercedes bends - "Hotel California"  
~Lotus Eaters - From the Odyssey. You eat the Lotuses, you end up loosing all drive and just hang out and bliss. L.A. is also known as the Land of the Lotus Eaters.  
~Aiolia - The island, ruled by a minor wind dude, Aeolus, who lives there with his six sons and their wives, which Odysseus visits before landing on Circe's island.  
~Unblinking eyes - The Lamia could not close her eyes. After Hera cursed her, cuz of sleeping with Zeus and having lots of kids with him, she became a snake lady, ate her children, but could no longer close her eyes, so she always sees their faces in front of her. Zeus gave her ability to take her eyes out of her head, but for some reason doesn't make her a woman again. Jerk.  
~Hungry lips leaving no drop in the bewildering cup, and still the cup was full - "The Lamia"  
~Mirrors on the ceiling...pink champagne - "Hotel California"  
~Champagne sparkled seas - riff on wine dark seas Odyssey.  
~Flawless bed - Odyssey, Circe's bed.  
~The whole bit with err...eating the trucker is from mythology where a Lamia, rather than a the, is a type of creature that preys on poor helpless men. Draining them of their...vitality. Poor things.  
~full of silver moons, etc. - "the Lamia"  
~Rabbit - The Odyssey, shoulda been a pig, but that has its own connotations.  
~The little death - orgasm.

~~~~~~~~~~  
~opening quote - From Wanted: Dead or Alive - Bon Jovi - Slippery When Wet  
~Dark Desert Highway - "Hotel California"  
~The Black Album - Metallica album."Wherever I may roam" is a song on that album.  
~Delorean - Back to the Future. Dean's driving over 88mph.  
~Yorktown to don't tread on me. - Heh. I was actually surprised when I looked at the words to "Don't Tread on Me," which is right after "Wherever I may Roam," that Metallica are actually singing something completely different. But whatever, I figure Dean mishears it too. The rest of the words are however from the song.  
~Windows open - presumably cool wind in Dean's hair. Smell of desert brush. "Hotel California" again.  
~Know the day by the bottle that he drank - "Wanted: Dead or Alive"  
~Never ever think - should be "All you do is think" also from "Wanted: Dead or Alive" but, you know how it is.  
~Riding sixteen hours nothing much to do - Bob Sieger (or Metallica from Garage Inc) "Turn the Page." and thus also the references to turn the page.  
~Heavy...dim...stop for the night...shimmering light - "Hotel California."  
~Silent Lucidity - Queensryche song.  
~Candle/Mission Bells - "Hotel California"  
~Day's Last cigarette...wondered what she said/'d say - "Turn the Page"  
~Is checkout... leave - "Hotel California"  
~Key chain with 69 stamped on it - "Hotel California"  
~Hammer - Horror movie production company

~~~~~  
~wily and the brave - Wily Odysseus  
~There was trouble up ahead - lines Irving Berlin song "Let's Face the Music and Dance." Cuz, hey, the Lamia has diverse musical tastes.

~~~~~~  
~Off through the day's mist - "Of Wolf and Man" Metallica the Black Album.  
~This could be heaven...hell - "Hotel California"  
~Santa Claus Conquers the Martians and Night of the Lepidus - two really cheesy movies. Ledpidus - Giant rabbits that mostly just sit there and sit there, cut to people screaming.  
~Prisoners of our own device - "Hotel California"  
~Bubbling through honey - "The Lamia"  
~Steely knife, couldn't kill the beast - "Hotel California"  
~Fight the Good fight - "Fight the Good Fight" Triumph

~~~~~~  
~Fenrir - Giant wolf that will help destroy the world in North mythology  
~My what big teeth - um, yeah...  
~Achilles tendon - couldn't resist

~~~~~~  
~This is not my idea of a good time - Garbage,"Not my idea"  
~Sunset Boulevard - Not actually about an aging actress sucking men of their youth, but wouldn't that have made it more fun. Perhaps with flame throwers. I figure Sam was in a high school production.

~~~~~~  
~Tall drink of water, cherry pie - "Cherry Pie" Warrant.  
~Wine dark seas - Odyssey.  
~~~~  
Dean the wolf. Ah, well, he speaks in epithets. That is all.

~~~~  
~If I am silent - "Silence is Golden" Garbage

~~~  
~Her song was not yet over - "The Song is Ended (But the Melody Lingers On)" Irving Berlin.  
~Bag of winds - I said it was a concatenation. Aeolus give Odysseus a bag, but his men open it. Ooops.

~~~~  
~

~~~~  
~ Shed Your Skin - "Shed Your Skin" Indigo Girls  
~Beowulf ballroom - Beowulf died fighting a giant serpent dragon thing.  
~Rainbow serpent - Austrialian giant serpent tied to water and rain. Plus they really like honey.  
~Lassie. Timmy down a well - Lassie. Timmy...  
~John Denver - Singer. Although I was this close to making it the boy band from Josey and the Pussycats.  
~Marsaria - Mars  
~Norse wolves - Fenrir  
~Apophis - Not just a Gu'ald anymore. Eygptian snake thingie killed by the sun.  
~Assyrian - The wind/lightening god Marduk killed the serpent goddess Tiamat to make dirt. Poor thing.  
~Amphora - Tippy kinda Greek vase.  
~Sirens - Not only appearing in the Odyssey, they were the handmaidens of Persephone. Demeter turned them into bird women after Persephone was kidnapped by Hades. They show up on lots of urns cuz, well, they serve Persephone in the underworld.  
~Hermai - Greek phallic statue, displayed for good luck. In particular, Hermes' phallus. In the Odyssey, Hermes shows up and tells Odysseus how to handle Circe (apparently with Odysseus' phallus). In "The Lamia," Hermes turns Lamia into a woman after getting her help hooking up with an invisible nymph.  
So, he needed a nod here.  
~Enodios - Greek name for Hermes, referring to his role as a wanderer. Means on the road.  
~Odyssey Circe suggestion - Hermes says, don't drink the wine, threaten her with a sword and then sleep with her.  
~Lamia - She is killed by the harsh words of a philosopher. Imagination killed by truth. Mean old philosopher. Ptui.  
~La Motte Melusine - Not real. However, La Motte is a character in A.S. Byatt's "Posession" Actually,  
she didn't write Melusine, another character did, but...it was obscure enough as it was.  
~Name only writ in water - the epitaph on Keats's grave.  
~~~~~  
~Weird syrops - The Lamia made a nymph invisible using them in "The Lamia"  
~Not actually how you kill a Lamia, but um, sex/philosophy wasn't working for me.  
~~~~~  
~So, tear me open, but beware - "Until it Sleeps" Metallica.  
~Fade to Black - "Fade to Black" Metallica

**Author's Note:**

> If after reading my fiction here, you would like to read more about me and my writing check out my profile.


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